


your last first kiss

by TheFledglingDM



Series: light of my life, pain of my ass [2]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Wedding Planner, Companion Piece, DIY Pro Leorio, Designer Kurapika, Leorio-Centric, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:14:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29568042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFledglingDM/pseuds/TheFledglingDM
Summary: And then, two months after his birthday, he and his producer-slash-drinking-buddy, Zepile, got a phone call. From Netflix.FuckingNetflix.Because they were making a show, and they wanted Leorio’s expertise –expertise?What? When had Leorio become an expert inanything?Who letthathappen? – as one of two leading co-hosts. They really seemed to want this cranky, scruffy, perpetually single man to come in and designweddings, of all things.-or: a companion piece tolight of my life, pain of my ass.from leorio's perspective.
Relationships: Kurapika/Leorio Paladiknight
Series: light of my life, pain of my ass [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2172288
Comments: 57
Kudos: 141





	1. i wanna break every clock

**Author's Note:**

> hello, thank you for clicking! i have had a Terrible week and no self-control, so i asked on twitter if there were scenes that people wanted to see from _light of my life_ from leorio's perspective, and folks delivered! right now i'm anticipating there being 5 parts to this, but i am going to mark is as complete because each chapter can basically stand alone.
> 
> this fic title and all of this work's chapter titles come from ["inevitable" by anberlin.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UuA3mDHEbTk)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> or: when they first met

Leorio just wanted a _break_.

That was it. That’s all.

His folks asked him if he meant that personally, creatively, emotionally, or professionally, and he tended to just reply with, “Yeah.”

Because he _did_ want a break. Between working with his father, helping Pete with the bar, and keeping the YouTube channel running, he was exhausted on his best days. On his worst, it was all he could do to get out of bed. But his father wasn’t getting any younger, and there was always more work to do, more jobs to take, and the channel was a gamble to risk his livelihood on (as his mother and Carmelita liked to remind him constantly).

He wanted a break as in, _a rest._ He wanted a break as in, _a change, a chance._

He knew that their warnings and comments came from a place of concern. Because his parents and siblings wanted to see him happy and, more importantly, _content._ But they did not know how hard it truly hit Leorio when his dreams of college and medical school were finally well and truly dashed. How that night at the kitchen table, sitting between his mother and father, calculating and re-calculating the numbers a hundred different ways, _haunted_ him. They did not know how the words stuck in his locked throat, how much it hurt to force that smile when he looked at his parents and assured them that it was okay. That he was never going to go to college, go to medical school, become a doctor, and he was _okay_ with it. He _accepted_ it. He _understood._

He was their eldest child. And seventeen-year-old Leorio thought that meant he needed to shoulder whatever pain life slung at him, strong and silent and smiling through it, because there were five others coming up after him. Even if that meant losing his way. 

His mother called him _passerotto_. Her little sparrow who always longed to fly. And on the eve of his departure from the nest, spreading his wings to explore bluer skies, those very wings were clipped.

It was hard not to be resentful. It took a long time – literal _years –_ for Leorio to work his way through the hurt, ugly feelings tangling up his chest. There were just some days it was harder. The days when the jobs were slow, for instance. Or the weeks or months with little to no work coming in, or the videos where engagement was low – 

Those were times it was harder.

And through it all, through his late teens and twenties, Leorio just felt _stuck_. Like he was trapped on the inside of a clock face, watching the world go by in front of him. 

Leorio sat his bony ass on a barstool, on his front porch, on a frozen minute hand, and watched life happen all around him. Babies were born; the old grandmother at the end of the block passed away peacefully in her sleep; children Leorio taught to play soccer and stickball grew and graduated and moved away. Pete took over _Harry’s_ bar and finally came calling to date Leorio’s sister.

(And if Leorio resented that, too, some days... well. It was just another thing not to talk about.)

But Leorio was not by nature an unhappy person. He did not like to dwell on the past or what could have been. And the Paladiknights were a strong, resilient bunch. So the resentful, hurting version of Leorio at twenty was almost completely different from the older, wiser, kinder version of himself nearly fifteen years later, just past thirty-four.

Sure, he still lived in the same studio apartment he did when he was twenty. And yes, he was still working the same batch of odd jobs. The only real difference in his life was that it no longer sent an ache shuddering through his breastbone to see Pete and Lita so happy together.

(It was so odd – the sight hurt for so long, and then one day, it didn’t. Leorio watched his first kiss, his first love, his first heartbreak fall in love with and marry his sister, and he was only happy for them both. He could stand up at their wedding reception as Pete’s best man and tell him from the heart, _I am so happy for you both, and I wish you nothing but the best._

At some point he healed. He inhaled, exhaled, and he was okay.

Or maybe his heart was as frozen as the gears in a stopped clock.)

The other key change was that the channel had started doing _amazing_ numbers in the past few years. Between his, Pete’s, and Zep’s better equipment, Leorio’s increased comfort in front of a camera, and a greater knowledge base about how to plan, shoot, and edit a video, their subscriber count had jumped to the millions.

(It… also helped that Leorio had finally grown into his gangly proportions, if he was honest.)

All of this was to say that as much as things had changed, at their core, a lot of very unfortunate things had stayed the same for Leorio Paladiknight. He still found himself feeling rudderless most days. Aimless. Put on ice. Trapped inside a broken clock.

And then, two months after his birthday, he and his producer-slash-drinking-buddy, Zepile, got a phone call. From Netflix.

Fucking _Netflix_.

Because they were making a show, and they wanted Leorio’s expertise – _expertise?_ What? When had Leorio become an expert in _anything?_ Who let _that_ happen? – as one of two leading co-hosts. They really seemed to want this cranky, scruffy, perpetually single man to come in and design _weddings_ , of all things.

“Well, not _wholly_ designing,” executive producer Bisky Krueger reminded him gently in their interview. It was hard to focus on what she was saying when the show’s head tech, Gon, had a camera pointed in his face. “We are still looking for another person to take the lead in the design aspect of this. Your role will be bringing the designs to life.”

So Leorio would basically be a glorified _per diem_ agent. He had seen enough wedding shows with his mother and his sisters to pretty accurately picture what was going to happen here.

But when he opened his mouth to say, _thanks, but no thanks, I’ll stick to my directionless existence and spin my wheels till I run out of road_ , Bisky smirked at him and handed him a slip of paper. Because corporate people didn’t actually _talk_ about money, they just passed notes with numbers on them like high school kids in the back of biology. Leorio peeked down at it, and –

Oh. Wow. Those were _a_ _lot_ more zeros than he was used to seeing.

So instead of marching out, Leorio smiled. “Let’s get started.”

That day was Monday. Wednesday was the contract signing. Leorio woke up bright and early, terrified for the meeting but… oddly excited, as well. Which was new. It had been such a long time since Leorio found himself truly _excited_ for something that took him a moment to actually recognize it.

So Leorio showered, dressed up as nicely as he could (wow, what a moment to realize he had _no formal clothes),_ knotted his tie, yanked on his blazer.

Tapped against the clock face and heard the glass start to crack. Just a bit.

The room was already full when Leorio arrived. Zepile was somehow there before Leorio for the first time in his life, talking to Bisky and a short, squat woman with long silver hair. She met Leorio’s gaze with slate-gray eyes, sizing him up like she was appraising him for parts. But then she smiled, an unexpectedly warm and pleasant expression. Perhaps Leorio was thinking too highly of himself for a minute here, but she seemed _incredibly_ pleased about something.

 _Maybe she’s another producer?_ Leorio wondered as he looked around. For as much as people kept telling him he was one of two leading hosts of this show, it was odd that no one seemed to actually be reaching out to talk to him. Was this some kind of corporate etiquette thing they all assumed Leorio would know? Was he supposed to announce his presence, command the room? Show them that their faith in his skills and charisma was not misplaced? And how would they want him to flaunt his _skills_ , anyway? Did they want him to build a fucking deck in the middle of the conference room?

“Leorio!”

This was only their second meeting, but Leorio was already pretty sure he would recognize Gon’s voice anywhere. That cheerful, bright sound was as much a calling card as his spiked hair or the camera on his shoulder. Gon approached him eagerly, saying, “You made it! Did you find this place okay?”

“Okay enough, I guess,” Leorio said. It was not difficult to find a hundred-story building, even in Yorknew. He tried to stand straight up and not slouch. _Fake it till you make it,_ his father taught him. _Looking confident even if you don’t feel it is half the battle._

Peeking around, he admitted, “I, uh, don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing, exactly.”

“That’s okay! We’re just waiting for a few more people,” Gon explained. “Some producers and executives. And Kurapika, of course!”

He said this name like Leorio was supposed to know who that was. And the name _did_ sound vaguely familiar, but he could not place it. “Gesundheit.”

Gon laughed. “Kurapika is your show partner. He’ll be doing the designs and planning with you and such.” Well, that was the first time they made it sound like Leorio would actually have a say in how these weddings actually looked. Gon peered up at him, brown eyes wide. “I’m surprised no one told you!”

“Yeah, me too,” Leorio muttered. He glanced around, wondering just who this Kurapika was and where the hell they were. Thank God no one seemed to hear him mistake his new colleague’s name for a sneeze, like an _asshole._ “What’s… Kurapika like?”

“He’s… nice,” Gon said. Leorio lifted his brows at the hesitation, and Gon hurriedly explained, “I mean that! He’s actually very nice! Genuinely nice! Oh, now I’m protesting too much. I didn’t mean that like it sounded, I was there for his initial interview, I swear he’s _not_ a dickwad –”

Leorio had not heard someone use the word _dickwad_ since he was thirteen. Surprised, he laughed, a genuine sound that came right from his stomach and went miles towards soothing his nerves.

“No, no, don’t laugh,” Gon pleaded, though he started laughing at his accidental gaffe as well. “He’s very nice! He’s a designer based here in Yorknew. He can come across a bit stiff, but I think he’s only shy!”

Leorio laughed again. Gon seemed so eager to smooth things over in the first impression department that he couldn’t help but find the younger man’s babbling endearing. Gon looked around and his face suddenly brightened exponentially.

“There he is!” Gon announced. Leorio’s stomach dropped as his nerves suddenly returned to him in full force, and then some. Gon waved his free hand to this stranger, calling, “Quick, Kurapika, c’mere!”

Leorio turned to follow Gon’s gaze. He immediately saw the man approaching them; it was probably impossible _not_ to, Leorio mused. He was a head shorter than Leorio, fair-skinned, slender and willowy, with delicate features and straw-blond hair that fluttered around his face and over his ears. But he held himself with a stiffness that nearly bordered on painful, his shoulders tense and spine rigid. Kurapika met his gaze and Leorio saw that his eyes were large, dark gray, framed by long lashes. A few sparse freckles dotted the bridge of his nose and the arches of his high cheekbones. His cologne was sharp and fresh, like mint and… eucalyptus, maybe.

Oh. _Wow_. Kurapika may have been a designer, but Leorio did not think he would be out of place among the very models he sewed for.

Dimly, Leorio registered Gon was still speaking. “This is Kurapika. He’s going to be the designer and planner on the show! You should see his designs, they’re so good! He made this suit, with these like, coattails? But the coattails look like peacock feathers, it was really neat!”

Kurapika’s cheeks blushed a surprisingly adorable shade of light pink from the praise. Leorio found himself charmed; a relatively famous fashion designer who grew flustered at compliments like, _they’re so good_ and _this suit was neat?_ Interesting.

“Thank you, Gon,” Kurapika murmured. His voice was quiet and he spoke with an accent Leorio could not place. “That’s very kind.”

Kurapika looked up at Leorio again. Despite his obvious shyness, his gaze was direct, his presence commanding and arresting but not overbearing. Leorio instantly knew this was a man not to be trifled with. 

Kurapika’s head tilted slightly, one fine blond brow arching. Leorio’s eyes were drawn to the ruby gemstone dangling from a fine chain in his left ear. 

“And you are?”

And Leorio was… _hooked_. A designer beautiful enough to be a model himself; a man vaguely mystified and flustered when people spoke _well_ of his creations; a man who seemed so anxious he turned his own back into an ironing board but who immediately looked Leorio in the eye and politely demanded to know who _he_ was?

 _Forget me,_ Leorio wanted to say. _Who are_ you?

_Tell me everything about you._

The clock face cracked.

He held out a hand. “So nice to meet you, I’m Leorio! I’m going to be your design partner on the show. Kinda taking all the ideas you have and bringing them to life! It’s nice to meet you. I'm looking forward to working with you!”

Kurapika blinked at him. He looked almost startled by his friendly greeting. But a moment later his (pink, plush) lips curled into a slow, small smile. It softened his entire bearing by at least a dozen degrees.

Somehow, it reminded Leorio of the sparkle and steady _drip, drip, drip_ of melting icicles.

Kurapika shook his hand. His grip was sure and firm, his fingers cool. “And I you.”

The clock face shattered. The gears started to tick. And time moved again.


	2. miles from what we would miss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> or: the moment leorio figured out his feelings weren't platonic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's me i'm back!!!!! [morestarsplease](https://morestarsplease.tumblr.com/) and i were talking on tumblr about this work and i realized that i wanted to show this moment where leorio was like, OH no, nope, i definitely have a crush on him. it's not love (yet), and i have it totally under control, but it IS a crush. oh our darling man.
> 
> please enjoy!!

Working with Kurapika was… an experience.

He was driven, focused, talented, passionate, brilliant. He showed up to their offices early and Leorio suspected he tended to work late into the night. He was a rigid perfectionist, but he saved his highest standards and most rigorous scrutiny for himself. He set a relentless pace, but he did not demand that they all keep up.

Ha. As _if_. Leorio knew a few things about keeping a thousand spinning plates in the air. He easily matched Kurapika’s ceaseless work ethic and kept them both fed and caffeinated.

None of this was a surprise, really. Leorio knew that getting a wedding together in less than a month was going to be an equally exhausting and rewarding challenge every time.

What _did_ surprise him was how much fun he had doing it.

The Zoldycks were adorable and hysterical to work with. Killua was a brat the likes of which Leorio had never seen, seconded only by Kalluto’s subtle mischievous streak a mile wide. Alluka and Nanika were probably his favorites, though. Precocious, hard-working, and clever, they ran their kitchen with a martial efficiency that his mother would have appreciated. And sweet-tempered Gon fit into their family like a key slotting into place.

And Kurapika? 

After that harrowing initial meeting and the following weekend where Leorio cyber-stalked pretty much every piece of media Kurapika had ever appeared in (he was _curious_ , okay, and the more he read the more he wanted to learn), Leorio had been positive this stunning, prim, proper man would take one look at him and write him off as a low-brow, crass idiot. What else would he think? Kurapika was the youngest person to debut at Yorknew’s Fashion Week in the event’s history (twenty-five – Leorio pretended to get it wrong so that he wouldn’t look like a creep). He was named _The Queer Network’s_ Trailblazer of the Year. He’d been on the covers of magazines, spoken on panels and at events, designed for the rich and famous and successful. He’d spent his life actually _making_ something of himself, whereas Leorio had… not.

Except that did not happen. Kurapika did not think he was a world-class slacker moron. No, Kurapika caught his wrist with those cold fingers and looked him in the eye and told him on that first day, _you bring your own set of much-needed expertise to this enterprise. You do so many things I can’t._

And he _meant it._

So instead of a working relationship that Leorio feared and assumed would be contentious, uneven, and uncomfortable was… exactly the opposite. Kurapika was maddening, frustrating, intense, exhausting, talented, charming, hilarious, clever, _kind_. He kept Leorio constantly on his toes with his ever-spinning mind; his soft-spoken quips; his tiny smiles and his lovely, dark eyes.

Instead of hating his new job, Leorio realized that working with Kurapika was a goddamn _blast_.

Because Leorio woke up one day and Kurapika was his best friend.

Because Kurapika was fun to be around. It was as simple as that. He was easy to be with. He made Leorio smile, made him _laugh_. When was the last time Leorio laughed like this?

Kurapika made him feel valued, important, respected, cared for. Needed. _Safe_. 

Because when Kurapika smiled and laughed – really, truly laughed – he closed his eyes, wrinkling them in the outer corners, his blond hair fluttering around his temples and the apples of his cheeks going rosy. He smiled with those perfect lips in that perfect mouth, revealing a gleam of perfect teeth, though he always tried to duck his chin or hide behind his hand, which Leorio was positive was a _crime_. 

Because when Kurapika laughed, he shone. He _glowed_. Like light catching on a stained-glass window, like glitter in the air, like the sun setting over the bay.

Because Kurapika was sunshine incarnate. The warmth of an afternoon in the park, of sunbeams cutting emerald streaks on a forest floor through leaves. The radiance of high noon and the weary strain and sunburn of a body at the end of a hard day’s work outside. The heat of a suit perfectly tailored to a slender frame and gazes that lingered a moment too long.

All of this was to say that Leorio was done for the _moment_ he signed that contract.

If asked when was the moment that Leorio knew he was well and truly _fucked_ , it was the night he and Kurapika sat together watching _ER_. The room was quiet but for the TV audio, and Leorio was only half-listening as he messed around on his phone. Kurapika’s ankles were a warm weight on his thigh, and Leorio found the entire setup mind-numbingly adorable and domestic.

And then Kurapika looked up at him with those sharp, dark _eyes_ and asked him why he loved these medical dramas.

And Leorio… Leorio _told him._

It wasn’t easy. Old hurts like healed fractures ached in the undercurrent from his words. But now it felt like purging an unctuous, sour bile that had long sat poisoning his very blood. He told Kurapika about how _hard_ he worked and studied, how much it _sucked_ when he realized it was never going to be enough. He paraphrased the ugly details he still wasn’t ready to share, like how he gave up on school after his junior year, dejected and defeated and feeling like there was no point in studying if he wasn’t going anywhere in life, anyway. 

Leorio said, _I got to meet you,_ and he meant it.

Kurapika asked, and Leorio answered, and Kurapika _listened_.

He put aside his omnipresent sketchbook and muted the TV and leveled him with that direct stare of his and listened. Kurapika did not tell him how to feel. He did not express pity. He did not push. He did not look down on him for not attending college. The only time he spoke was when Leorio repeated his old standbys about how he would have probably failed out, anyway, so there was never a real reason to try.

“I disagree,” Kurapika said, poking Leorio’s leg with his toes (unsocked and perpetually freezing, there was an obvious solution here but Kurapika refused to wear socks).

Because Kurapika was his best friend. And Kurapika _believed_ in him, in his skill and talent and abilities, even when Leorio did not believe in himself. But with Kurapika next to him, smiling up at him and complimenting him like that, it grew easier to see what Kurapika saw.

“Thanks, Kurapika,” Leorio said at the end of that episode, laying his hand over Kurapika’s foot, the only part of him he could reach without being weird. He lightly ran his thumb over the blanket, tracing the fine bones, feeling the heat of his skin distilled through the fabric. 

Leorio glanced up at Kurapika, who was staring back at him with wide eyes and flushed cheeks, like _he_ was the one who’d turned the world upside down this evening. Then Kurapika smiled, slow and a bit unsure. It was like a dancing candle flame. It was one of the most beautiful things Leorio had ever seen, except for every other thing Kurapika did in front of him.

_Oh,_ Leorio realized, only vaguely aware of the next episode of ER starting. _This isn’t just friendly._

Because Kurapika was stunningly attractive, amazing, hilarious, maddening in all the best ways. And Leorio wanted to work with him and spend time with him and cook dinner with him. Leorio wanted to take care of him, make him laugh and make him feel good and secure and cared for. Leorio wanted to watch him smile, hear him laugh, make him blush. 

He wanted to trail his hands all over the fine lines of Kurapika’s body, that graceful form containing such an immensely powerful spirit, and see how far that blush spread.

He wanted to sweep the hyper-professional and poised Kurapika up his arms and make those tight reins of control _snap_.

Leorio wanted Kurapika to be his work partner. His best friend. The best kind of best friend.

He returned his attention to the television and watched a younger, less-famous George Clooney ramble his way through a diagnosis. Leorio closed his eyes and breathed in, held it, exhaled. Felt these surges of affection and warmth and _want_ wash over him like ocean waves. And then, just like those waves, he gently ushered them back out to sea.

Leorio had a lot of experience hopelessly crushing on best friends, after all.

  



	3. we could stay in this moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> or: the sick fic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have nothing to say for myself. i have other projects to work on, but i was not ready to leave this world behind. thank you for your patience with me!!!!
> 
> please enjoy!!!

_**Alluka:** Kurapika! Are you going to make it to the Mario Kart Global Grand Prix?_

_**Nanika:** we’re trying to decide how much pizza to make  
 **Nanika:** also i’m finishing up my math and plans to decide who is THE mario kart master  
 **Nanika:** it’s me btw_

_**Kalluto:** like hell  
 **Kalluto:** i’ll fucking crush you_

_**Nanika:** i’d like to see you try scrub_

_**Kalluto:**_ 😈😈😈

Leorio smiled down at his phone as he meandered about his studio, grabbing a jacket and sticking his wallet in his back pocket. He opened his phone to text Kurapika for a ride as the group chat vibrated again. His eyebrows rose as he read the text:

_**Kurapika:** My apologies, everyone, I’m afraid I’m terribly ill and will be unable to attend today. Have fun without me!_

_**Alluka:** oh_😢😢😢  
 ** _Alluka:_** _feel better!!!!_

Leorio was typing his message before he’d even made a conscious decision: _that’s too bad! do you want company? i won’t be able to make it in that case, either, since i haven’t a ride. unless gon is still in the city._

Killua instantly replied, _lmao he’s not._ Leorio rolled his eyes and decided he did not need to learn more.

_**Nanika:** in that case, we can postpone!  
 **Nanika:** feel better, kurapika!_

Kurapika did not reply. But he probably wouldn’t, if he was as sick as Leorio guessed he was. Leorio stood at his door for a few more moments, thinking. He did not want to intrude, but if Kurapika was sick enough to call out – something he had literally never done once in the entirety of their acquaintance – he suspected his friend was very ill indeed.

_It’s repayment for him buying me food when I was hungover,_ Leorio told himself when he went to the store and bought Gatorade, honey, and lemons.

_Friends take care of friends when they’re sick,_ he told himself when he waited in line for twenty minutes to get that soup Kurapika liked.

_Who exactly do you think you’re fooling?_ He asked himself as he rode the elevator up to Kurapika’s apartment. _You’re showing up when he’s sick with soup and you’re planning to make him tea, you soft, pathetic bastard. You fool. You moron. One of these days he’s going to sit you down and explain how you need to back off, because he’s so far out of your league he shouldn’t even be speaking to you. Because without this job, he never would have._

He knocked on the door. It whipped open a moment later. Leorio opened his mouth to speak, only – 

_“Leorio?”_

– Oh, no. Oh God, oh shit, oh _fuck_. The man who flung open the door was _not_ Kurapika. No, this man was a few inches shorter than Leorio, with a round face and chubby body, his hair dark and his eyes auburn. He wore thick black glasses. He was also familiar, and Leorio struggled to place him for a few moments. Except then his mind made the connection and Leorio almost dove back into the elevator because oh, _fuck_ , this was –

“Pairo!”

This was _not_ the way he’d hoped to meet Kurapika’s brother. He’d wanted it to be at work, where the lines were clearly drawn and their roles established. He would be dressed in something nicer than jeans and a faded _Legend of Zelda_ shirt, and he would _not_ be showing up unannounced at his sick brother’s bedside like a creep or a pining loser.

There was a rustling sound, and Kurapika’s head popped up from behind the couch like a startled lemming. He blinked owlishly, looking bemused by Leorio’s sudden appearance. Blond strands of hair were standing on end from the static. He looked sleep-rumpled and _adorable_ , and Leorio could not stop the smile that tried to sneak onto his lips.

But more to the point. Leorio returned his gaze to Pairo, who was eyeing him with suspicion. A hint of a smirk was dancing across his lips.

_You’re not slick,_ that smile told him. Which, rude. Leorio knew that.

Leorio tried to salvage the situation the best he could. “Um, sorry, I don’t mean to drop by unannounced –” _Though I did, I have, I’m already here, please end my suffering now._ “– I thought, from the text, you were here alone, Kurapika, and I just wanted to – but your brothers are here! Cool! So sorry to intrude, I’ll just – I can –” _jump out the window, it’s fine, it’s cool, I’ll just implode now._

And then, so help him, _another_ man appeared from behind Pairo, grinning like he’d been waiting for the perfect time to make his entrance. He was a full foot shorter than Leorio, his skin a deep russet brown similar to Gon’s. He wore his shoulder-length, dark hair loose and waving around his shoulders. When he smiled up at Leorio, his dark blue eyes shimmered like gems. Mischievous, I-will-cause-problems-on-purpose gems. “Leorio! Come in, it’s so nice to meet you! Kurapika has told us so much about you!”

“Oh,” Leorio said, his body functioning on autopilot and allowing himself to be ushered into the apartment. He could not imagine what Kurapika might have had to say about him to his family. Something along the lines of, _I have this coworker, Leorio, he’s my best friend but he’s clearly into me and it’s really cringe, how do I let him down gently._

Altair prattled on, adding, “All good things, of course! Well, you can work out who my fiancé is. This is Pairo, and I’m Altair! Kurapika’s brothers!”

His smile took on a sharper edge, as if to say, _we know all about you, and if you hurt Kurapika at all ever, we will feed you your own teeth._ It was a smile Leorio knew well; he’d perfected it over the years as people came calling for his siblings. Mostly his sisters, but Azelio had his fair share of admirers – that was all beside the point.

Leorio scratched the back of his neck, a nervous tic he wanted to kick but just couldn’t seem to. “Ah, yeah, I recognized you. From your submission tape. And from Kurapika! He talks about you all the time. All good things!”

He remembered Kurapika describing Pairo as his biggest headache. He amended, deciding it was best to be honest, _“Mostly_ good things.”

That seemed to break the tension: Pairo and Altair laughed at their brother’s expense, probably remembering a million little things Kurapika could have complained about. Meanwhile, the man in question piped up irritably, “If you’re here to just laugh at me, you all can just fuck off and leave me to die.”

Leorio eyed him curiously. Kurapika wasn’t often one to swear. But he was scowling grumpily at all of them. Next to him, Altair and Pairo cheerfully noted, “Stage two.”

“Stage two?” Leorio repeated, because _that_ wasn’t ominous at all.

“It’s nothing!” Kurapika half-shouted from the couch. The volume sent him into a small coughing fit. Leorio’s chest twisted in sympathy.

“What’s that?” Pairo asked. It seems he’d finally noticed the plastic bag Leorio had in his hand. Pairo grinned up at him innocently, _because_ of course he knew what it was. What else would it be, with Leorio showing up at his brother’s apartment less than an hour after he’d told them he was sick?

_Go on, you goddamn simp,_ Pairo’s evil little smile seemed to be saying. _Tell us what you brought for Kurapika._

Leorio straightened up and tried not to reveal how flustered he was by this entire turn of events. If he acted confident, like this was normal, like this was exactly his relationship with Kurapika, then everything would be fine, right? Right? Right.

“Oh, um.” Great; Leorio started out _strong._ “When Kurapika texted the group chat saying he was sick, I didn’t know he already had folks here, so I, ah, went to grab some things and keep him company? So I got some Gatorade, and the ingredients to make this thing my ma always made us when we were sick when we were younger – I have five younger siblings – that doesn’t matter right now – and some medicine, and some of that Vick’s stuff for breathing, and that tomato and chicken soup that he likes –”

“The one with orzo?” Kurapika interrupted from the couch. Leorio gratefully stopped his babbling and looked back at Kurapika. He was leaning against the back of the couch, his chin resting on his crossed forearms. There was a hopeful gleam in his eyes that sent an arrow straight through Leorio’s heart.

“Of course,” Leorio assured him. Kurapika’s face brightened, and he stretched out his arms, making little grabby motions with his hands. It somehow made the picture before him even _more_ adorable. It made Kurapika’s sharp edges a little softer, made him just a bit more approachable.

Pairo and Altair were eyeing him expectantly, wordlessly ordering, _you see him; bring the poor man his soup, fool._

Leorio stepped around the peanut gallery to walk to Kurapika’s makeshift sickbed. The coffee table was spread over with a mug of tea, a bottle of water, a bottle of Gatorade, and a half-empty box of tissues. The bathroom trash can had been brought down to sit beside the couch. Kurapika himself was spread out over the couch beneath a pile of at least three different blankets, a fourth wrapped around his shoulders. This close, Leorio could clearly see the evidence of Kurapika’s illness: his skin was paler than usual save for the bright spots of color on his flushed cheeks, and his nose was red and looked a little raw, too. His eyes were shadowed and looked just a little glassy the way only a high, lasting fever could truly produce. His hair was messy from sleep and static, artlessly falling around his face. Leorio had never seen him dressed down like this, in a linen shirt and sweatpants and _fluffy, sailboat-patterned socks,_ holy _shit_ , it had to be _illegal_ to be this cute.

Kurapika sipped his soup with both hands, his eyes closed. He swallowed and made a small pained expression that showed just how much even that motion hurt. It was difficult to see him in pain, and for a moment, Leorio forgot they had an audience. With a sympathetic chuckle, he reached toward Kurapika, partially to gauge his fever and partially to offer what comfort he could. Kurapika’s skin was worryingly _hot_ against Leorio’s hand, and Leorio knew he ran warm, himself. He ran the back of his hand over Kurapika’s forehead, brushed it against his temple where loose strands of hair tickled his skin.

Kurapika _sighed_ , a tiny, breathy thing that did about a million new and terrifying things to Leorio’s insides, and tilted his face into the touch. Leorio’s breath froze in his chest. Kurapika’s lashes fluttered open, peering at him with those hazy, half-lidded eyes.

“Oh, man,” Leorio soothed him gently. “Fever’s really doing a number on you, huh, sunshine?”

It was clear Kurapika was sick and not fully in his right mind, because Leorio knew there was no other way Kurapika would let him touch him like this. That Kurapika would even allow himself to be seen like this. He guiltily dropped his hand and pulled away, clearing his throat. “I’ll head out, now. I don’t mean to overstay my welcome, and if you two are here –”

“Oh, that’s quite alright!” Pairo interjected loudly. Leorio almost jumped; he had not realized Kurapika’s brothers had snuck up behind him to watch him make a fool of himself. “I have a meeting with my editor to get to, and Altair, love, you only get a day off every few weeks. We can head out. We trust you to take care of Kurapika.” He beamed at Leorio. “Pika, call us if you need anything. Leorio, it was great to finally meet you, we should all get dinner when he’s feeling better!”

Or… maybe they weren’t here to watch Leorio pathetically pine over their brother. The offer was a kind one, regardless of whether they meant it seriously, and Leorio agreed. “I'd like that. It was really nice to finally meet you both, too. Despite the circumstances.”

Altair grinned at him before explaining with a businesslike efficiency, “He took some cold medicine about half an hour ago, so he should be good for his next dose at half-past three. His temperature was at a hundred and one, too. If it doesn’t go down by tomorrow, or if he spikes to one-oh-three, please take him to the hospital. He’s a big baby when he’s sick, though, so don’t let him be too much of a drama queen.”

“He’s not _dumb,”_ Kurapika defended over Leorio’s chuckle. “And you’re acting like I’m your kid and you’re leaving me with a babysitter.”

“Aren’t we?”

Leorio sat back and watched Kurapika interact with his brothers as they bickered for a while. It was clear that there was a great deal of affection between the three of them, even as they relentlessly teased Kurapika for being sick. Kurapika eventually tossed a pillow at them, ordering them to _get out,_ and the couple bid a cheery farewell as they left Kurapika in Leorio’s care.

Leorio mused over the levels of _trust_ that showed from Pairo and Altair as they left their sick brother to a (virtual) stranger’s care. For his part, Kurapika groaned aloud and threw himself back onto his pillows. Leorio eyed the steady, slightly wheezy rise and fall of Kurapika’s chest and the way his throat worked as he swallowed.

Sympathetically, Leorio asked, “You’re really sick, aren’t you?”

Kurapika scoffed. “Couldn’t tell?” He could not see the endlessly patient glare Leorio leveled him with, but Kurapika softened his tone anyway as he carried on. “When I work too much, too hard, for too long… I always get really sick once it stops. It hasn’t been this bad before, though.”

“Burnout,” Leorio noted. Like he’d warned Kurapika about for _months_ now. But there was no pride in this victory. Just concern at seeing Kurapika brought so low by his own exhaustion.

Kurapika’s lips quirked into a small smile, though Leorio could not see his eyes with his forearm laying over his face. “I thought you’d say something along the lines of ‘I told you so.’”

“I won’t lie, I _did_ think that,” Leorio confessed. Kurapika snorted. “But would that help? I hadn’t thought so, but I could give it a try.”

Kurapika laughed weakly. “Pairo and Altair already did.”

“If your brothers doing it didn’t help, then I don’t think I would, either,” Leorio assured him. Kurapika gave a weary chuckle and shifted so that he was laying on his side, pulling his blankets up to his chin to keep warm. His eyes still had that vague, unfocused shine that told Leorio he was still very much caught up in his fever. Blond hair flopped over his forehead, fanned out across his pillow, and all Leorio yearned to do was push it back from his face. Would Kurapika let him? Maybe, if he was sick. But would he ever allow Leorio to do it when he _wasn’t?_ Would he resent Leorio for seeing him in such a state, when he was better?

“I admit, I’ve never really taken care of a sick person before,” Leorio finally confessed. “What can I help with? What hurts?”

“Everything,” Kurapika said, just this side of a whine. He was _so_ dramatic and _so_ sick and _so_ adorable, _fuck_ , Leorio was _so gone over this man_. Kurapika pouted a bit at Leorio’s laugh and explained, “My head and throat, mostly. I’m stuffy and my chest hurts. And I’m so, so tired. I want to just lay here and watch something and sleep.”

“Hmm,” Leorio mused. A plan was forming in his head. He ran a hand over the blanket as he shared, “Growing up, my ma always made us put on the Vick’s and drink this tea. She said that nothing helped recovery like little creature comforts.” He dug into the bag and handed Kurapika the little jar of Vick’s. “I’ll leave this with you, and I’ll make this tea. Whenever I’m sick, I just want to watch bad action movies and vegetate. How does that sound to you?”

Leorio almost panicked when Kurapika’s eyes actually went _teary_. Frantically, he thought back over what he’d said, wondering what he’d done wrong, but Kurapika just palmed away the dampness in his eyes and irritably swiped at his runny nose. “That sounds. Nice.”

God _dammit_. He was so fucking _cute_. It was amazing, the layers to Kurapika, the way he could vacillate between in control and joking, between aloof and… _this_. It was impossibly endearing, watching Kurapika with his walls down, sleepy and emotional over the smallest gestures of kindness. It made Leorio want to take care of him forever. Not in an overbearing, infantilizing way, or because he thought Kurapika could not take care of himself. He had a million examples that proved exactly the opposite. But Kurapika worked _so hard_ , all the time, and now that he had a chance to help him, to look after him, all Leorio wanted to do was hold him and not let go.

“Oh, _sunshine_ , you are sick,” Leorio said. “Give me a few, I’ll be right back.”

Kurapika nodded weakly. Already his eyes were drooping again, but he made himself sit upright and finish the soup Leorio brought him. His sleeves slipped down over his wrists and over his knuckles, creating a makeshift barrier between his skin and the hot bowl. Leorio wanted to _kiss_ him, contagious germs be damned.

Instead, he made himself get up and head into Kurapika’s kitchen. Leorio knew where everything was by now, so it was easy to find a cutting board, knives, and a jar for this tincture. It was nothing fancy, just lemons and honey mixed with hot water, but it was _comfort_ in a jar. Leorio knew that keeping the body warm and comfortable was almost as necessary as medicine when someone was sick. When a body was chilly and uncomfortable, it created stress, and stress made healing even harder. Leorio eyed Kurapika where he sat on the couch, his frame trembling slightly from cold and weariness and wincing with every sip.

_I want to take care of you,_ Leorio thought. _I want to comfort you. I want to be in your life. I know you don’t need anyone to complete you. But won’t you let me stay, anyway?_

The water in the tea kettle boiled, releasing a squeaky hiss. Leorio jumped slightly and poured the hot water over the lemon and honey in Kurapika’s favorite mug, the novelty one from Pairo’s _The Phantom Thief_ book series – of _course_ Leorio recognized it, and of _course_ it was Kurapika’s favorite, that enormous softie. He rejoined Kurapika on the couch, settling on top of the blankets and gingerly handing over the hot mug. He said, “I made some more and put it in your fridge. It’s better when it’s had time to sit and infuse, but this should help you feel better for now.”

Kurapika sipped the drink, closing his eyes. His lashes cast faint shadows under his eyes. He made a soft, pleased sounding hum at the drink. Kurapika looked up at him, his shoulders loosening. Relief welled up in Leorio’s chest at the sight, as well as a completely misplaced sense of pride.

Kurapika smiled at him. _“Spas dikim, Leorio. Hûn her gav ji min re pir dilnizm in. Ez her gav ne bawer im ku min heq kiriye, lê ew bi rastî ji min re wateya cîhanê dide. Ez te diperizim.”_

Leorio blinked. The foreign language – Kurtan, obviously – caught him completely off-guard. It was a beautiful language, all musical syllables and soft consonants and subtle catches at the back of the throat. The words flowed together like water, and Leorio felt his stomach _flip_ when he heard his own name spoken in that accent. His head and his heart and his gut and his most base instincts all came together at once to agree, _oh. We like that._

_Get yourself under control, you cretin,_ Leorio reprimanded himself. He bit back a smile the best he could, his face flaming. “Oh. Wow.”

Kurapika blinked at him, looking confused. Leorio grinned bashfully, admitting, “Sorry. I was just caught off-guard, I guess. I’ve never heard you speak Kurtan. It’s a really beautiful language. But I’ve no idea what you just said.”

Kurapika blinked, looking confused. Then his eyes widened, and a truly gorgeous blush crept up his neck and over his cheeks. He looked terribly embarrassed, but before Leorio could assure him it was okay _(_ _more_ _than okay,_ a part of him purred before he firmly told it to _shut the fuck up),_ Kurapika quickly corrected in Common, “Oh, I’m sorry. I said thank you, and that I appreciate you doing all this for me. It means a lot.”

Leorio smiled faintly. _Of course,_ he wanted to say. _Any time, whenever you need me, I care about you, I want to be here for you. I really, really like you._

But all he said was, “Of course. What are friends for?”

Kurapika smiled. It looked like it caused him some amount of pain to make the expression. Leorio guessed he was reaching the limits of his stamina, so he jerked his chin to indicate the television. “Movie time?”

“Movie time,” Kurapika agreed, nodding faintly.

It took a few minutes to decide their premium movie-watching position. Kurapika absolutely refused to get off the couch, which made sense, but when Leorio sat down on the opposite end of the couch, Kurapika twisted around and all of a sudden, he had put his pillow and head on Leorio’s lap. He did it so easily, so _naturally_ , like they did this all the time. And it _felt_ easy. It _felt_ natural. Leorio wished they _could_ be like this all the time. Kurapika’s head was a warm, slight weight on his thigh, and he smelled like fresh laundry and mint.

Leorio knew the moment Kurapika realized what he’d done, because he _froze_. Kurapika stared up at Leorio, gray eyes wide and lovely and surprised, like he couldn’t believe Leorio was actually letting him do this. As if he anticipated something ridiculous like Leorio shoving him away. His cheeks were still that beautiful shade of rouge, his nose red, lips carnation-pink. His hair spread out over his pillow, fell away from his forehead. He looked like a sickly, sleepy angel, and Leorio felt his heart squeezing helplessly in his chest. Oh, he liked this man _so much._

Finally, Leorio asked the question that had haunted him for months. “Can I touch your hair?”

The blush on Kurapika’s cheeks deepened. It spread down his neck, over his collarbones, disappeared beneath the neckline of his shirt. Leorio watched, fascinated.

_It’s only because he’s sick,_ Leorio snapped at the part of him that was feeling stupid things like charm and affection and hope. _That’s the only reason he’s letting you do this._

Whatever the reason, Kurapika only curled up into a smaller ball to conserve body heat and turned away from Leorio. Gently, Leorio lowered his fingers to Kurapika’s hairline. “You need a haircut.”

Kurapika let out a soft, sleepy laugh. “Shut up.”

Leorio smiled, knowing he looked like a huge cheeseball and not giving a flying fuck as he watched over Kurapika. He slipped his hand through Kurapika’s hair, finally, _finally_ feeling those soft, silken strands weaving between his fingers. Not to be dramatic, but Kurapika had _the softest_ hair Leorio had ever touched, and he was irrevocably ruined for physical affection with anyone else ever again. Kurapika’s hair tickled his palms, slid through his fingers, and Leorio could _feel_ the tension slowly leaking from his frame. In what felt like no time at all, Kurapika had fallen fast asleep in his lap. He breathed deeply and evenly now, his hands curled into loose fists in the blankets and tucked up to his chin.

_He’s like a cat,_ Leorio thought, smiling fondly. He twisted a golden lock around his finger, eyeing the contrast between the straw-blond and his own tan skin.

_I like you so, so much,_ Leorio thought, and he dozed off, his fingers still laced in Kurapika’s hair. _I don’t ever want to leave us. Or this._

_If I could make you happy, I want to stay right here. As long as you’ll have me._

He awoke a bit later to find that Kurapika was already up and moving, his fever finally broken. He was checking something on his phone in the kitchen, his hair messy and clothes adorably rumpled from his nap. He wore a blanket around his shoulders like a cape, and Leorio was so immensely, incredibly, _sickeningly_ infatuated with this man.

And when he asked Kurapika, “Feeling better, sunshine?” and saw the way that inexorable smile spread over his friend’s lips, he knew that these feelings weren’t going away anytime soon.

They watched another movie together for dinner, slurping down their delivery pho and ramen. Now, the spice-induced flush to Kurapika’s cheeks looked healthy, and the brightness in his eyes seemed because he was really, genuinely _happy_ , here with Leorio.

And somehow, that was the most amazing thing about this enterprise. The notion that Leorio might just make Kurapika even as _remotely_ happy as Kurapika made him.

And not just happy. _Content._

Kurapika dozed off halfway through the movie, his hopefully-final serving of cold medicine knocking him out. His head dipped onto Leorio’s upper arm, the closest and most comfortable place he could rest at this angle. Leorio’s heart leapt into his throat from the combination of Kurapika’s warmth, of the smell of his eucalyptus hair product, the tickle of his hair against his jaw.

Leorio inhaled, held it, exhaled.

Leorio did not pay the slightest attention to this boring movie, and Kurapika would never remember it, so Leorio turned the television off halfway through so they could both get to bed (separately). With no lamps on, the apartment was bathed in darkness save for the fuzzy glow of the city. Kurapika did not so much as stir. Leorio shook his head and carefully lifted Kurapika up into his arms, one arm under his knees and the other under his back.

_“Mmm,”_ Kurapika mumbled faintly, still mostly asleep. He wiggled a bit, getting himself comfortable, his nose brushing against the sensitive side of Leorio’s neck. He sighed, breath ghosting over his skin, and Leorio had to repress a full-body shiver.

_I want, I wish, I want_ warred in Leorio’s head with reminders that _this was his friend, his best friend, don’t fuck this one up, too._

He carefully carried Kurapika up into his bedroom, too-cautious in the dark, gently laying him out on top of the comforter. He did not want to mess around too much with it, worried about waking Kurapika up more. Instead Leorio used the blanket still wrapped around his torso to cover him.

Before he could stop himself, Leorio traced one hand over Kurapika’s cheek, his temple, his forehead, through his hair. Even asleep, Kurapika turned into the touch, pressing his face against Leorio’s palm. For the second time that night, the air froze in his lungs, and he _melted_ , utterly helpless to halt the emotions rising up his chest like the tide.

_This is your best friend,_ his head uselessly protested. _Don’t fuck this up, you can’t fuck this up, he’s your_ best friend.

_Best friend or no,_ his heart whispered right back. _You’ve never felt this way about anyone, have you? How incredible is that. How terrifying._

_It’s amazing how life turns out, isn’t it?_


	4. your last first love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> or: the gift basket. and something a little extra.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is pure, utter, wish-fulfilling fluff for which i have no excuse. please enjoy!

Leorio frowned down at the crib, his eyes narrowed and tongue bitten between his teeth. Damn, the detail on this crib made applying the final stain and lacquer a _pain_ in the _ass_. Why had he done this, again? Why did he commit to this level of detail? Nugget wasn’t going to care that the crib featured hand-carved clouds and stars. They were going to care that it was comfortable and safe and warm, and sure, Leorio had spent forever researching specs and woods and _vegan wood varnish_ , whatever the _fuck_ that meant. Which was why Leorio was here the night before the baby shower, approximately a week and a half before Lita was due to pop like a balloon, putting the finishing touches on a crib that was _thisclose_ to making Leorio tear out his own hair.

His phone buzzed in his back pocket. Leorio immediately snatched it up, because if Zepile was telling him that the friend of a friend’s cousin they were borrowing a truck from to move this crib was backing out at the last minute, Leorio was _going_ to snap.

But no. Instead, his phone lit up with a very different notification.

_**Sunshine** **🌞**_ **_,6:45pm. 1 Unread Message._**

Leorio used his thumb to unlock his phone and open the message. Kurapika was, as always, clear and direct: _Are you busy right now?_

“Mother _fuck,”_ Leorio swore, his pulse rate jumping. Because when it rained, it poured, apparently. He thought of their plans and designs for Amane and Canary’s wedding; had something fallen through? Was something broken? Had they called off the wedding?

But Leorio was also spoken for at the moment, and he could only handle one crisis at a time, so he typed out, _A bit, but I can talk some. What’s up?_

Kurapika saw the message immediately. Leorio watched him waffle over his words for a few moments, the “...” bubbles showing he was typing appearing and disappearing. At last, he wrote: _It’s more an in-person thing. May I come over?_

The words were formal, the grammar perfect. Kurapika only did that when he was _extremely_ nervous about something. And if it was an “in-person thing…”

Leorio’s heart descended directly into his asshole and stayed there.

_???????_

_EXTREMELY ominous sunshine_

“Shit, fuck, damn,” Leorio cursed under his breath. He wanted to push off whatever this inevitable, horrible conversation was. But he knew that would also only prolong both of their misery. He added, _that’s fine. i’m in the workshop on the docks. i’ll be here for a while._

A pause. Then: _Very well. I will arrive in 30 minutes._

He even typed out minutes. Good God, had someone _died?_

Leorio sighed heavily, pressing his forehead against his phone screen like it might whisper comforting words to him. Ha. After a moment of feeling sorry for himself, Leorio tucked his phone into his back pocket and got back to work. He did an excellent job not worrying about whatever was so important Kurapika needed to drive halfway across the city to tell him about it _right now tonight_ for an impressive about two minutes.

Because, _what the hell?_ Leorio tried to think of a million things Kurapika might need to tell him immediately. None of them were good: was he coming to tell Leorio that he would not be returning to the show in person? Was he coming to tell Leorio that their second season was cancelled, after all? (This was less likely – he would have already heard about it if that were the case.) Or was this that long-awaited, long-dreaded turning point in their friendship, and Kurapika had decided he’d had enough of his pining and was coming to finally set him straight? (Heh. _Straight_.) Sit him down and say, _Good evening, Leorio, I cannot help but notice that you are completely infatuated with me, and while I am flattered, I must tell you your feelings are unreturned and unwanted and also I am leaving to herd goats in the mountains forever, farewell._

And Leorio could handle that. He really could. He’d had these difficult, uncomfortable conversations before. He was used to heartache. And he’d braced himself for this disappointment for _months_. Hell, he’d always known his feelings for Kurapika were a doomed one-way street. This was just karma coming to collect.

_We won’t stop being friends if you decide to leave,_ Leorio told him after the fight they both went too far. He’d lay in his bed that night, tossing and turning and regretting every word he’d said, until Kurapika – courageous, strong, incredible Kurapika – picked up the phone to actually call him. To actually communicate and hash out their real problems with their words. Leorio had been too tired to stifle all of his pent-up emotions, so they leaked into his words. Everything he’d told Kurapika that night was a bit too real, too intense, too genuine. Leorio did not regret a thing.

And now Leorio was terrified Kurapika had made up his own mind, in turn. But it had not swung in Leorio’s favor.

All of which meant that Leorio was pretty well and worked up by the time he heard that lovely accented voice echo in the empty warehouse, calling his name: “Leorio?”

Leorio closed his eyes. Inhaled the scent of varnish and pine. Exhaled. _You can do this. Adult conversation time._

“Back here!”

He injected cheer into his own voice like a shot. Steady hands carefully applied the last of the varnish over the crib as he sensed Kurapika appear in the doorway. He hovered in the threshold, like he was not sure if he should enter or not. Leorio was too nervous to even meet his eyes properly.

“Hey, I’ll be right there, give me one sec,” he said, eyes focused on his work. The finish was difficult to properly spread over these damn stars. The points did not seem to want to take to the stain evenly, which made Leorio frown irritably (because this was just _one more damn thing)_. He vaguely heard Kurapika murmur some kind of assent as he focused on the last of this project. He felt a bit like a jerk and a coward, asking Kurapika to wait after driving all this way, but the color would be uneven if Leorio stopped his work and then came back to it, so he wanted to get the last of this coat down. Kurapika stood patiently in the doorway as Leorio finished the last of his work.

The silence went on for too long, and Kurapika was too-still and stiff in the corner of Leorio’s eye. To break the tension, he rambled, “Hey, thanks for coming. I’ve been stressing over this for a while, I’m almost done with this, just in time for the baby, thank goodness.” He ran a final stroke over the curve of the end of the bed, eyeing his handiwork with a critical eye. “What d’you think?”

Kurapika made an odd, strangled sort of sound in his throat. He quickly coughed to clear it and assured, “It’s beautiful, Leorio.”

Leorio smiled. One of Kurapika’s best qualities was his honesty; Leorio was quite sure he’d never given a false compliment in his life, and so if he said that he thought the crib was beautiful, then surely it was. He put down his things, the warmth of Kurapika’s comment bolstering his courage so he could finally look his friend in the eye and have this horrid conversation. “Heh. Thanks. That means a lot. Anyway, what was it you wanted to –”

Leorio finally looked at Kurapika in the doorway and the words died in his throat. Because an _angel_ hovered on the threshold, hair glowing like golden wheat and the room’s low light catching in his eyes, making them _sparkle_. He was dressed warmly for the weather in jeans and his favorite dark gray pea coat, a crimson scarf wrapped around his neck. His cheeks and nose were captivatingly flushed from the chilly wind outside.

But this _vision_ surprised him still, because then Kurapika marched forwards with the air of a man on a mission and _thrust_ the object in his hands out toward him. Leorio instinctually caught whatever it was, his broad palms covering Kurapika’s smaller ones. His hands were icy from the night air.

Utterly baffled and taken aback by this turn of events, because he’d spent the past half hour psyching himself to having his heart broken, Leorio peered down into the wicker basket.

Diapers. Bottles. Some fancy formula Leorio saw when he accidentally sorted his searches by _High_ to _Low_. A binky. A blanket, yellow flannel on one side and bumblebee-patterned on the other. A soft bee plushie embroidered with a sweet, vacant smile.

“It’s for Carmelita,” Kurapika said, which was pretty clear, but Leorio was lagging three seconds behind right now, so it was probably for the best that he clarified. “There’s bottles, and a binky, and a little bee plushie, and about a million diapers and formula, but let me know if the baby doesn’t like them or has allergies – and the blanket! The fabric vendors didn’t have anything chicken nugget themed, and the sales associate gave me a strange look when I asked, and I thought…”

What exactly Kurapika thought, though, Leorio never learned. Because holy shit, holy _shit_ , this was the _opposite_ of what he thought this was going to be. _This_ was why Kurapika was so tired this week, why he ushered them all out of the apartment earlier than usual, why he insisted on coming here in person. Kurapika had spent the past few weeks making Leorio’s sister a baby shower basket simply because he knew it mattered to Leorio, and what mattered to Leorio mattered to _him,_ too _._ And he was so _sweet_ and adorably _awkward_ about it, rambling the way Leorio did when he was nervous. 

Hope – amazing, terrible, incandescent, _blazing_ hope – took up residence in Leorio’s breastbone. He spoke and could barely get the words out. “You – Kurapika – you…?”

_Do you…?_

_Could this…?_

_Have I got this entire thing backwards?_

Kurapika bit his lower lip, rolling it nervously between his teeth. He reached up to push a bit of hair off of his temple and behind his ear. The light caught on the arch of his cheekbone. Leorio watched him, silent and spellbound. He _yearned_. 

“Well. You mentioned before that you’ve missed a few family gatherings in this job, and I felt terrible about that. Your family is important to you. And nothing should get in the way of that. Especially something as mundane as a _job_. Also, I was an asshole earlier this week, and I still felt bad about that. So. This is my apology, as well as my well-wishes, because I know I only met Pietro once, but it was nice to spend time with him, and moreover they are all important to you, and I am going to shut up now.”

Kurapika finally stopped talking, inhaling sharply like he’d forgotten to breathe throughout that speech. He peered up at Leorio with those stunning dark eyes. For a few blessed moments, Leorio saw Kurapika with his walls completely down, his emotions written plainly on his face. He looked anxious and hopeful and shy and wonderful.

And a million little things suddenly fell into place. Kurapika’s hot-and-cold attitude. His bright smiles and starburst laughs and his quiet, dry witticisms. His genuine compliments and lingering gazes. His hands, small and cold and sure, pressing against Leorio’s back and arms and own palms in a thousand brief, innocent touches. His feet and his head on his lap, resting against his shoulder. His impassioned defense of Leorio’s work and his designs and abilities. His anxiety and hesitance to commit to a second season of the show.

His heated gaze as he met Leorio’s eye, helping him try on his new suit, his voice an half and octave lower than usual when he told Leorio he looked _more than okay._

He’d looked at Leorio like he wanted to _eat him alive,_ and Leorio would have let him.

Oh, Leorio was a _moron_. A fool. A blind, frightened idiot. An emotional recluse so prepared for the next blow, the next disappointment, that he shut his eyes and ears and heart to the evidence right in front of him. That he ignored the simple, immutable facts screaming in his face all along.

Leorio was completely, embarrassingly, head-over-feet _in love_ with Kurapika.

And somehow, improbably, impossibly, _incredibly_ , Kurapika loved him right back.

That may not have been quite the phrasing he would use, Leorio reminded himself. He had an inkling that Kurapika, like him, refrained from putting the words to this undeniable _thing_ between them.

But this was not just him, Leorio finally knew. He swayed closer into Kurapika’s personal space without consciously choosing to do so. And Kurapika _let him._ He tilted his head, just a little, just enough the fringe of his bangs fell across his forehead. Kurapika did not shut his eyes, but they were lidded, like he was once again in a warm, hazy, half-asleep trance of warmth and comfort, wrapped up in Leorio’s arms, and –

And Leorio could kiss him. Leorio could gently set the wicker basket aside and take Kurapika into his arms, one hand to his jaw, fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck, the other pressed flat to the small of his back. He could lean in fully and finally, _finally_ press his mouth to Kurapika’s, could finally learn if those petal-pink lips were as impossibly perfect and soft as they looked. He could take his time, memorize their shape and feel against his own. He could trace Kurapika’s cheeks, his temple, the slender lines of his body (within reason – they were still in a _warehouse_ , and if Leorio ever had the opportunity to properly make love to Kurapika, he was going to do it damn _right)._

He could sweep Kurapika up against him and kiss him for everything he was worth, with everything he had, and Kurapika would _let him_. He was sure of it. He knew it in his heart, his marrow, his _soul_. 

But… not tonight. Not yet. Kurapika had his own decisions to make. He had this wedding tomorrow and his brother’s next month. He had to consider the contract and decide how he felt about Leorio for himself. And Kurapika deserved to make that decision without Leorio’s own feelings and hopes weighing on him.

_So do what you need to do, think about it from a million different angles. Do what you need. My mind is made up._

Leorio was not going anywhere.

So he smiled at Kurapika, turning his attention to the blanket he’d so painstakingly crafted for his sister. “Thank you. This is… amazing of you. Lita’s gonna love it. So will Pete. And the baby.”

“Of course.” Kurapika was breathless like he’d been running. He slowly started his retreat, his steps slow like he was trudging through molasses. “Anything for family, right? I should…”

Leorio grinned, indicating the crib. “Yeah. Of course. I should finish this. I’ll see you Monday.”

“You will,” Kurapika agreed. He smiled, a gorgeous, heartbreakingly tender expression. He was so lovely and unsure, Leorio’s heart _seized_. Was this really how Kurapika had looked at him? When had this started? All he wanted was to blurt out the depth of his feelings. “Have a wonderful time tomorrow. Goodnight.”

Leorio watched him walk away. He did not even have it in him to be embarrassed by the smile on his face or the blush in his cheeks. Because Leorio was _so happy_. So relieved and hopeful. When was the last time Leorio actually hoped for something good? 

_It’s amazing how life turns out, isn’t it?_

_We should all be so lucky to be in love with our best friend._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eventually i will write other works. but not yet!! thank you!!

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so very very much for reading! if you like, feel free to leave a comment/kudos, and subscribe for future updates!
> 
> as always, feel free to hmu on my [tumblr](https://thefledglingdm.tumblr.com/) blog or [twitter!](https://twitter.com/DmFledgling)


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